


Volumes of Forgotten Lore

by itsrainingsomewhereelse (PC012)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Depression, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Narcoleptic Sans, Overdosing, Permanent Injury, Pre-Core Gaster, Sans is tired, Sanster, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, W. D. Gaster is not related to Skelebros, Whump, also don't worry i'm fine!, gaster is a very sad nerd, this is... very graphic at points. please don't read this if any of the warnings bother you!, those holes ain't gonna heal, unreality, vent vent vent vent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PC012/pseuds/itsrainingsomewhereelse
Summary: Gaster is having a very bad time. Sans is there to help (inasmuch as he can).a collection of quick vents. please keep the warnings in mind, cause this got hella dark





	1. There's a Hole in My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the accident.  
>   
> this is a bit more pre-relationship for them, hah  
> warning for major permanent injury, body horror (just in case), blood (sort of) and panic attacks  
>   
> chapter title from "Flaws" by Bastille!

Gaster awoke slowly. He was in a warm bed, the room around him dimly lit. He propped himself up on his elbows, head spinning.

Sans sat up on the chair beside the bed, snapping awake. "Oh, Gaster!" He looked relieved just to see him awake. "How're you feelin'?"

Gaster cleared his throat and started slowly. **"An accident?"** Sans nodded. **"My head hurts. More than usual, I mean."** Gaster paused, a slight dread running through him. **"Why can't I see through my right eye?"**

"It's– it's gauze. You got a bit..." Sans glanced away. "...injured. Dr. Fiddle says you should be fine, but it might not... heal all the way."

 **"Oh."** Something seemed to clasp around Gaster's soul. He knew no experiment was without its risks. It had to happen eventually, right? He instinctively reached to touch his head, but stopped.

His hands were covered in gauze, as well. There was a dark stain at the center of his palms.

**"My hands...?"**

"Mm, the same."

The dread was like ice in his veins. Magical hands or not, if he couldn't use his hands...

 **"Can I... can I see it?"** He didn't know if he wanted to.

Sans blinked, then nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, yeah, I s'pose it's about that time... Gotta change your bandages and all." He was trying to keep a smile on his face, but it fell as soon as Gaster glanced away. It must have been a close call.

He shuffled to the side, making some space for Sans to sit on the bed beside him. Sans looked much less pale as he did.

"This might... hurt a bit, I dunno," Sans warned as he took one of Gaster's hands in his own. Gaster's palms tingled uncomfortably, but he grit his teeth and nodded. He looked away as Sans started unwrapping the gauze, trying to ignore the buzz of the lights which only made his headache worse.

The air felt off on his hands, sharper somehow. Gaster didn't want to look at it, but he had to.

There was a hole in his hand.

He could see right through it, right at the black substance dripping from his hand onto the bedsheets.

The world seemed to spin around him and Gaster had to fight the distinct urge to throw up. He was leaning heavily against Sans now, his hand was burning, his head was full of white noise–

"Whoa, Doc– hey, Gaster!" Sans's hands were on the sides of his face, holding it in place. "Look at me." Sans forced him to keep his gaze, stern but concerned. "Focus on me, G? It's okay."

Gaster tried to shake his head. He couldn't control his breathing. It was not okay. He wanted it to be but the image wouldn't leave his mind. His hand, his–

He let go of Sans's sleeve, and his hand wasn't burning anymore.

"Okay? Just– just breathe. C-come on, in, and out."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In. Out.

Gaster nodded, shakily. He didn't look at his hand again.

Sans finished replacing the gauze as quickly as he could. They both sighed in relief when he did.

 **"I'm..."** Gaster started, but his voice disappeared.

Sans looked at him, smiling. Was it pity?

"It's okay," he said, patting Gaster's shoulder. He frowned, took a piece of gauze, and tapped Gaster's cheeks lightly. As much as he could with the bandages over his right eye.

 **"Thank you,"** Gaster whispered, staring at the now-wet piece of gauze. He wondered where he would be without Sans.

Sans grinned a little, earnestly this time. He wrapped his arms around Gaster in a hug, not quite reaching all the way around. "Don't mention it."


	2. Take My Hands, They'll Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take my heart, pull it apart  
>   
> warning for blood, some body horror (dust mm) and graphic depictions of self-harm, yep no more fluff only pain now  
>   
> chapter title from "Body" by Mother Mother!

Gaster let his head drop into his hands, rubbing his eyes with a certain finality. Another failure, and it was his fault. He couldn't keep doing this anymore. Everyone was relying on him and all he did was mess it up. He could still see the look on Sans's face as he barely avoided getting killed by a piece of unimportant shrapnel. _Shrapnel_. Sans could have died at the hands of a piece of metal.

Gaster's eyes were full of tears. He felt weak. It was pathetic, really. He had done so many experiments in his life, failed so many times, why was this any different?

Gaster found himself rummaging around in his drawers, desperate to find any kind of distraction.

He let out a hiss, pulling his hand back to reveal a large cut on his finger. Gaster brought the finger to his mouth and sucked on the wound, twisting the scalpel which had done it around in his other hand. The taste of his own blood was surreal.

Then he felt dust on his tongue and his stomach twisted nauseatingly. He spit and spluttered, struggling to get it out. It was unnatural, the matter which made him up rolling around in his mouth, the taste of it like a death sentence.

Really, that was all he was. Dust. He could picture it blowing on the wind, his dust being scattered away like it was nothing. Would anyone even care?

The image of Sans was back in his mind, his expression one of terror. Somehow that stung more than his bleeding finger.

Gaster twirled the scalpel around, automatically gripping it as if he were going to cut something, but there was nothing there, no dead flesh.

He was rolling back his sleeve, struggling to keep his hands steady. The skin of his forearm was pale, almost shining in the low light. Before Gaster knew what he was doing, the tip of the scalpel was above his skin, cold gleaming metal.

Just how easy would it be to cut in, like he had done so many times on other things. The blade slipping in, carving a path for itself, unstoppable. So unlike him.

The scalpel was jutting out of his arm, in a perfect line with the long path it had made in his skin. Gaster dropped it, the pain finally reaching his brain.

It was like the angel's kiss. Sweet and terrible and everything in him wanted it to stop but it didn't. He knew he deserved every second of it.

Blood was pooling on his desk and Gaster barely had the wherewithal to grab a stack of papers and scatter them over it. He didn't need another mess on his hands.

The cut on his arm stung, blood thick with dust dripping down his arm, but Gaster didn't let that deter him. He didn't bother cleaning it up, the scalpel in his hand again. He deserved this, didn't he?

The pain wasn't as strong as before, and somehow that hurt even more. It was like everything was dull in comparison, like the substance had been drained from it all. He felt numb.

The blade was on his arm again, the cold of the unfeeling metal like a shock. Gaster almost welcomed it. He pushed down slowly, feeling the pain pick up again, stronger and stronger like a crescendo. He dragged the note out as long as he could, relief washing over him. He would do anything to keep that numb dread away.

He pulled the blade, making another incision. It wasn't as precise as he could have made it, his hand was shaky and weak. What an excuse. He knew he could do better, he should, with how much experience he had.

He knew someone else would have done better.

The pain seemed weaker now, no longer overcoming his mind with ease. Thoughts slipped through, feelings, he tried but he couldn't keep them away.

The scalpel had slipped from his grasp, but Gaster couldn't pick it back up, his fingers were shaking and slick with cold sweat. He turned his eyes back on the two cuts, almost willing them to open up and hurt again. He would rather feel anything than this disappointment. He almost laughed; he couldn't even do this right.

Gaster stared at the cuts, two dark lines dipped in blood, pearly skin painted dark, and suddenly he felt light and dizzy. _What..._ Now that the clarity of pain was almost gone, it was as if he could finally grasp what had happened. He let out a sob, covering his mouth with a hand but he couldn't look away.

_What have I done?_

He had found the old roll of gauze faster than he had anticipated, tearing out cloth after cloth and soaking them in the blood on his desk. He could see Sans's face when he saw the mess and it hurt in a completely unwelcome way.

Gaster hissed, his arm sore and still stinging as he moved it around. He took the gauze and wrapped it around his arm, layer upon layer until he was sure that no one would see how stupid he had been.

Another stupid mistake.

Gaster wondered why he was surprised.


	3. Smoking Isn't Good for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really isn't.  
>   
> warning for smoking, mild injury, implied self-harm (just in case)

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

Gaster couldn't stand it any longer. He had been writing and rewriting this equation for hours, and he was nowhere near doing it right. He rubbed his eyes, reaching for another swig of his coffee, but the mug was empty.

Would it even be worth it to get up and get some more? All the time he would waste, perhaps he'd be better off adding another crumpled paper to the pile.

Perhaps he'd be better off doing something actually useful.

He sighed, taking in a deep breath of the stale air. His office door has been closed for a while, but he trusted the ventilation to keep him alive. Just long enough to finish this damned thing and pass out.

His fingers were getting twitchy; he needed to do something, anything other than write. Gaster felt around in his pockets. Empty. Piece of paper – darned paper, he'd had enough of it. Empty again. How familiar.

His fingers clasped around a box, almost greedily. He spun it around in his hand, feeling the thin, plastic cardboard. Slowly, he took it out.

It was a pack of cigarettes. It took Gaster a moment to remember that he had taken it from Sans once, months ago.

Skeleton or not, smoking really wasn't good for you.

His hands shook as he opened the pack. Just a few left. A moment later one of them was in his hand, nestled neatly between his fingers.

Before he knew what he was doing, Gaster was rummaging around his desk drawers, the cigarette slipping from his fingers as he did. He let out a pleasantly surprised noise as he found one of the few boxes of long matches Dr. Isen hadn't raided for his chemistry experiments.

 _Does this count as a chemistry experiment?_ he wondered, smiling a little, as he lit the match with the practised motion of a scientist. The cigarette was in his hand again and a second later it was lit. Gaster brought it shakily to his lips and pulled on it.

The smoke was a choking, hot mass, eating at his throat until he managed to cough out a lung, and hopefully the smoke with it. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and his eyes burned slightly with the stale smoke in the air.

It took a while to stop coughing and breathe again. The air tasted like bad decisions. Gaster shook his head and pulled on the cigarette again.

It took him a few tries to get it right, but once he did, he knew. He breathed in, the smoke filling his throat and lungs like a warm blanket. He held it for a few seconds, then let it out a little too quickly. At least the coughing didn't bother him anymore.

He could see why Sans enjoyed doing this on occasion. It was quite cathartic.

Gaster breathed in sharply, and suddenly his senses cleared. He dropped what was left of the cigarette with a hiss. His lip was burning with hot, sharp pain, but somehow he didn't mind. It was the least distant thing he had felt all night.

He bit on the spot, tears prickling his eyes, but it didn't matter. He would heal it later.

The cigarette had burned down to a bud, leaving ashes on the papers which littered his desk. Gaster cleared it away, still coughing.

He considered the pack, counting how many he had left.

How many _were_ left.

Just five. More than he ever had need for, naturally.

Gaster stuffed the pack back into his pocket and returned to his work.

The air still smelled like old smoke.


	4. It's Cathartic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop before you get started.  
>   
> warning for smoking and implied mild injury

It was days before Gaster remembered the pack of cigarettes, still in his pocket.

Sans had gone home for the night, possibly hours ago, Gaster couldn't remember. The lab was empty save for him, though with how late in the night it was Gaster wasn't too surprised.

He stood up from his cluttered desk and started walking, away from the office where he had spent the better part of a week. He needed to get away.

The pack was in his hands again, and before he knew what he was doing, so was a cigarette.

Just one. He would throw the pack away, but just one. He needed to breathe.

The smoke was choking at first, but he got the hang of it quickly. He held it in for as long as he could, then let it slowly sift through his teeth. The aroma wasn't the most pleasant, and Gaster didn't think it was the age of the cigarettes, but it helped him relax. He focused on his breathing, the way the smoke felt as it passed through him.

For a moment he wondered how he could have lived without it.

The cigarette had burnt down quickly, but this time Gaster was more careful, discarding the ashen bud before he burned his lips again. Sans didn't like it last time. Honestly, Gaster thought he worried too much.

He fiddled with the pack in his hands, suddenly hesitant to throw it away. It would be better, of course. Smoking wasn't good for you.

Gaster lit another cigarette.


	5. Can You Think of Any Better Way to Choke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't do that.  
>   
> warning for smoking, self-harm, implied/referenced major injury, mild body horror (hand holes yo) and morbid curiosity  
>   
> chapter title from "Glory" by Bastille!

Gaster didn't have an ashtray in his office. He could always go and get one from the lounge, but getting an ashtray felt oddly final. He didn't want to think that he couldn't stop this whenever he wanted. He just didn't want to at the moment.

He shook off the ashes on a designated scrap of paper, taking another drag of the cigarette, letting the warm smoke fill his lungs slowly and then exit in a controlled, precise manner. It felt good.

But it wasn't enough.

Gaster found himself staring at his palms, or rather through them, his foot tapping unconsciously. He stopped it, but didn't break his gaze. He traced the edges of the holes with his eyes, almost feeling them tingle as if they were still bleeding.

He threw away the cigarette bud, lighting another.

He wondered what it must have felt like. He had blacked out during the accident, unfortunately.

Gaster shook his head. _Fortunately_.

His hands were just reminders of his failures now.

He took a drag on the cigarette, surprised to find it already burned out. Gaster extinguished it on the piece of paper, or at least he had planned to.

He let out a muffled yelp as the hot bud met the skin of his arm instead. He was paralyzed for a moment, unable to pull the bud away.

It was as if a fog had been lifted from his mind. Gone were the worries of projects and paperwork and failures and shortcomings, gone was the dread hanging over his heart that he hadn't even been aware of. His mind was sharp with pain, every inch of him screaming to get it away, but Gaster didn't. He'd do anything to keep those worries away.

The bud on his arm had stopped hurting, but there was a blackened ring left where it had touched his skin. Gaster threw the bud away, reaching for another cigarette, but the pack was empty.

He buried his face in his hands, unable to keep the painful sob in anymore. It felt like he was choking again.


	6. I Pray for the Ground to Swallow Me Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad (bad) discovery.  
>   
> warning for smoking, self-harm, implied self-harm and self-harm scars, self-hate and swearing (Sans curses a lot when under stress, hah)  
>   
> chapter title from "Snakes" by Bastille!

"I didn't know you smoked," Sans said sceptically. He said it more like he was certain of the opposite.

Gaster took a drag on the cigarette, blowing a long puff of smoke which drifted lazily towards the shining crystals of Waterfall's ceiling. **"I didn't know you were up to three smokes a day."**

Sans seemed to wilt a little, taking a drag at his own cigarette and keeping his eyes on the ground. It was cold, sure. But Gaster didn't really feel like talking about his own problems right now.

"At least I haven't been cooped up in my office for days doing who-knows-what," Sans muttered, and Gaster couldn't help but flinch. It was his turn to look away, fidgeting with his sleeve.

Sans sighed, running a hand over his skull. "Sorry. It's been... tough for all of us. 'Specially for you."

Gaster didn't reply.

The silence stretched for a while, each monster lost in their own thoughts. Or, Gaster suspected Sans was. He, himself, simply dragged at his cigarette, then let the smoke out slowly, focusing on it, his mind blessedly blank.

"So, uh," Sans started, then stopped again. He still hadn't looked at Gaster.

Gaster felt a stab of guilt. Perhaps he had gone too far. He sighed, putting a hand around Sans's shoulders and pulling him into a one-armed hug.

Sans let his head lean against Gaster, closing his eyes. Gaster thought he might have fallen asleep, just for that moment.

He took one last drag before finishing with his cigarette, not really thinking as he extinguished the bud just above his wrist. He almost didn't feel it. Gaster made a mental note to get longer sleeves.

"G? Oh, _fuck_." Sans grabbed his other arm, pulling it away and making him drop the ashen bud.

Gaster felt a chill run through him. He hadn't thought that Sans would notice.

"Shit, let me see." He was too dazed to stop Sans from taking his arm, pulling down the sleeve to take a look at the burn.

The look on his face was one of horror. Gaster wanted to scream, but he was frozen, too scared to move.

"Holy _shit_." Gaster found he shared his sentiment. Sans looked up at him, but Gaster stared pointedly to the side. He couldn't meet Sans's gaze. He couldn't.

"Okay, okay..." Sans's voice grew quiet. He seemed to be processing the situation, staring at Gaster's arm like it was a death warrant. Perhaps it was, in some way.

Sans's shoulders slumped, and he let go of Gaster's arm. Gaster covered it up quickly, holding it close to his chest. The burn still stung a little.

He wanted to get away, but he knew Sans wouldn't let him.

"How..." Sans started, tone hushed. "How long?" He was looking at Gaster again, looking with those beautiful eyes which seemed so scared. Scared for _him_.

Gaster didn't deserve it.

He shook his head, rubbing at his wrist, wincing as he touched the new burn. He'd need some ice for it.

Sans's gaze dropped to his wrist and he reached out again, slowly this time. Gaster scooted away, staring through the hole in his hand at the cigarette bud on the ground.

 **"I'm–"** But he wasn't fine. **"I'm sorry..."** he whispered.

Sans patted his shoulder, lightly, comfortingly. "It's– it's okay. It's okay..." He didn't sound like he believed it.

Gaster didn't either.


	7. Drugs Aren't Good for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Determination is one hell of a drug.  
>   
> warning for needles/syringes, self-experimentation, substance abuse/drug use, sickness, vomiting, blood, implied/referenced self-harm, self-hate and swearing

Gaster stared at the needle jutting out of his arm, the thumb of his other hand pressing down on the butt of the syringe. He watched the red liquid trickle out of the syringe, tracing its way down the needle and into his forearm.

He tried to remember what he was doing, exactly. His mind seemed to have blanked out. He watched as the final drops left the syringe, and then it hit him.

_Determination._

He had been desperate, hadn't he? He had needed to know. He _had to know_.

The syringe tinkled against the polished floor, the sound echoing in the empty room. Gaster bent over, hugging his stomach, barely holding in a grunt.

_God_ , that hurt. He hadn't quite grasped the scope of it when he had overseen the experiment with Sans, and that had only been a small quantity of DT. Gaster opened his eyes, roughly wiping them to see the volume of the syringe.

_Oh dear._

Gaster's whole body was burning and he couldn't stop shaking. His legs gave way and he had to lean on a nearby desk to stay standing. The burning seemed to be pulling in, leaving his limbs numb and exhausted as his chest hurt more and more.

The pain reached a threshold and Gaster couldn't bear it any longer. The faded colours of the room popped as he let out a strangled yelp and slid down the side of the desk, pressing his hands against his chest and stomach, curling into a shaking ball of hurt.

Everything hurt. His hands, his head, his soul felt like it was going to burst.

Gaster spent a while just curled up on the floor, gasping for breath, keeping his eyes tightly shut to stop the dizziness from getting to him. He could take this.

As if it had heard his thought, the substance inside him burned harder, the pain in his soul spiking suddenly. Gaster found himself bent over, clawing at the floor as he tried to stop gagging.

He needed to do something. He didn't think he could take it. He should–

His train of thought was interrupted as he felt the burning move up into his throat and mouth. Gaster coughed, his forehead pressed into the cold floor, dark, viscous magic trickling down his chin onto the tiles.

He stayed like that, shaking, gasping for breath, trying and failing to ignore the pain of the Determination shredding at his soul.

Gaster took a long, shuddering breath. He almost broke into another coughing fit, but he kept his breathing steady. He let himself drop to the floor, digging around his pockets to find his phone.

Apart from the CORE's control, Gaster had only one person on speed dial. He pressed the button with shaking hands, his heart racing.

_Ring._

_Ring._

**"Please, please answer..."**

_Ring._

_Beeeeep._

Gaster felt his stomach drop out when it went to voice mail. He groaned. Of course it would. It was probably his fault for calling so late, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Or maybe that was just the concentrated magic which was now congealing on the floor in front of him.

Gaster took a deep breath, barely stopping himself from coughing. **"S-sans? The..."** He was interrupted by a jolt of pain, making him spend the next few seconds wheezing. **"...the lab, I..."** was all he could force out before the message stopped recording.

Gaster dropped the phone, just lying and breathing for a few minutes. He hated to make Sans worry, but he knew the skeleton would kill him if he hadn't called. Really, he would probably kill him anyway for being stupid enough to do this.

He coughed up more magic, not even having the strength to wipe his mouth.

The pain was subsiding, or maybe he had just gotten used to the constant stabbing ache. Gaster wouldn't put it past himself. Sometimes he hated how adaptable his pain threshold was.

He must have passed out, because the next time he opened his eyes, the minute hand had moved twenty minutes. There was a skidding sound from a direction Gaster couldn't place, and the sound of the door slamming open.

"Gaster? ... _shit_."

Oh, was he glad to hear Sans's voice, panicked though it was.

Sans rushed to Gaster's side, his eyelights flicking in the direction of the discarded syringe as he passed it. He took hold of Gaster's shoulders, breathing a sigh of relief when Gaster opened his eyes and pointed them in Sans's vague direction. It took him a few moments to focus his gaze on the skeleton. He looked beyond worried.

"Fuck, Gaster, what– what did you _do_?"

Gaster almost chuckled. Sans always took everything so seriously. Instead he ended up coughing into Sans's chest, gripping him perhaps a little too tightly.

"Shit... Hey, okay, just," Sans muttered, putting a hand to his forehead and looking around. "Let's sit you up, yeah?"

Gaster didn't have the strength to protest. He let Sans sit him up against the table behind him, still holding onto the skeleton tightly.

"Okay, okay..." Sans kneeled down in front of him, detaching Gaster's hands from himself and holding them in his own. "What... what happened, G?"

Gaster waited for his dizziness to subside enough for him not to throw up again. He debated whether to try to just pass it off as the after-effects of the accident, but one look at Sans's face told him it was no use. He sighed, cleared his sore throat and managed a hoarse whisper. **"...D-Determination..."** Gaster couldn't look Sans in the eyes.

Sans blinked, putting a hand to his forehead. " _God_ , Gaster..."

Gaster kept his gaze on his hands, still in Sans's, feeling ashamed. He had been so _desperate_... He hadn't even thought about the consequences.

"Let me take a look at it," Sans said quietly. Gaster just nodded.

Sans took Gaster's forearm gently, his fingers brushing past scars as he rolled up Gaster's sleeve to look at where he had injected himself. There was a small puncture wound, slowly bleeding red.

Sans glanced up at Gaster, but Gaster was too tired to glance back. He was staring at his forearm, watching the red liquid trickle down his arm.

Sans got up without a word, opening a nearby drawer and coming back with fresh gauze. He sat down in front of Gaster, starting to wipe his arm and wrap the gauze around it. "How are you doing?"

Gaster was almost surprised to find the pain mostly gone now, but the emotion felt far away. **"I still feel... a bit nauseous."** Ill. Sick. The exact opposite of healthy. Gaster wasn't going to say that out loud, however.

Sans nodded, and Gaster remembered the fact that Sans, too, had been in the same situation. His partner tore off a piece of gauze and carefully wiped around his mouth, the cloth coming back with dark stains. Gaster was very suddenly reminded of his hands.

He thought about apologizing, for making Sans worry, for being reckless and desperate and stupid enough to get in this situation, but all that came out of his mouth was a weak cough.

Sans finished wrapping the gauze around his arm, rolling the sleeve down to cover it again. "Okay. Look." He glared at Gaster and Gaster cowed a little. Sans sighed, placing his hand on Gaster's shoulder and giving it a comforting rub. "Why do you keep doing this shit, G?" His tone was disappointed, and somehow that stung Gaster more than the Determination now burning in his soul.

Gaster just shook his head. He didn't know what else he could say.

Sans stared at him for a while. Then he bent forward and hugged him tightly. Gaster slowly wrapped his arms around Sans. He felt like the scum of the earth. "Geeze, Gaster, you're shakin' pretty bad. I'll go get–"

**"I-it's fine, just."** Gaster's voice dropped to a whisper. He didn't deserve this. **"Stay w-with me, please?"**

Sans nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

__Gaster held onto him like he was the last thing in the world._ _


	8. Does It Almost Feel Like You've Been Here Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routine.  
>   
> inspired by a doodle from my good friend leg! love ya~  
> warning for depression, self-harm, implied/referenced self-harm and self-harm scars, blood, mild gore (just in case), self-hate  
>   
> chapter title from "Pompeii" by Bastille!

The cold water stung pleasantly against his arm, washing away the blood and revealing the pale skin underneath. Gaster didn't look at his handiwork, instead fishing out his phone from his pocket.

He fumbled with the phone, typing in the number with one hand. His arm still hurt, even after he'd cleaned out the new additions. More like reminders.

He knew he could summon a hand bullet, avoid the twinge of pain and not risk dropping the phone in the sink again, but he was just so tired.

He cleared his throat as the call was answered, making sure he sounded as normal as possible.

 **"Hello? Yes, it's Dr. Gaster. I do not think I will make it to the meeting today. It's..."** He paused, thinking, then landed on his usual excuse. **"...family business again, yes. Perfect, thank you. You have a wonderful evening as well."**

It was a lie, of course. Gaster had no family. He knew at least Sans would see right through it. He had done so so many times that it was more of a code for 'I am not okay at all' at this point.

As expected, he arrived a few hours later. Gaster heard the rustling of a plastic bag as Sans closed and locked the apartment door.

"Gaster?" He sighed and made an undefined sound, if only to keep Sans from worrying. "Heya, sorry I'm late, I thought you'd kill me if I missed another meeting, heh." His laugh was completely devoid of humour; just a formality. "I, uh, got you some food." The sound of the plastic bag again as Sans set it down on the dining table.

He stopped in front of the couch where Gaster had been lying since he had made the call. Gaster didn't look at him, but he could feel Sans's eyes landing on his bandaged arms with a certain dread. He didn't bother with covering them up; there was no point. They had been in this situation enough times already.

Sans sighed, sitting down next to Gaster, who scooted feebly to the side. "Bad day, huh?" Gaster didn't respond, still not looking at Sans. He couldn't, not when he had let him down again.

"I brought some gauze, just– just in case you didn't have any here." Sans cleared his throat, moving tentatively closer to Gaster. "I could help you replace it, if you want, it's... bled through a bit," he finished quietly. Gaster just nodded. He was so tired.

Sans got up and came back with his work bag, taking out a couple of rolls of gauze. Gaster managed to sit up, settling in the corner so Sans could sit beside him. He reluctantly extended one arm and let Sans examine it.

After a few minutes, he had finally gathered the courage to glance at him. The skeleton looked as tired as he felt, his brow furrowed in worry. Gaster felt a pang of guilt. Sans didn't deserve this.

"Did you clean it out?" Sans asked as he unwrapped the hastily-made bandaging. He seemed to turn even paler when he pulled the gauze away completely.

 **"Mm, I did,"** Gaster replied quietly. He couldn't keep a slight tremble out of his voice.

Some of the cuts were still bleeding, red blood slowly bubbling up and spreading over his skin like poison.

Sans quickly grabbed the gauze and pressed it against the wound to soak it up, making Gaster hiss. "Sorry, sorry! Just gotta wait for it to, uh, close." Sans shuffled on the couch to better hold the gauze in place.

 **"I-it's okay."** Gaster was surprised to find himself tearing up. Seeing what he'd done a few hours later made his stomach turn.

"...hey." He blinked as Sans cupped his cheek, turning his head to look him in the eyes. He smiled hopefully, but it was weak. "Hey, it's okay, Dings." He brushed away Gaster's tears gently.

Gaster shook his head, unable to keep his voice above a terrified whisper. **"It's– I-I was so _stupid_."**

Sans shushed him, giving him a one-armed hug. They sat like that for a while, the silence heavy with regret. By the time Sans had finished replacing the gauze, the coffee table was cluttered with cloth stained red.

"I can go and get you that food, if you like? It's nothing much, just a TV dinner, but it's better than nothing." Gaster nodded. He didn't feel like eating at all, but he couldn't say no to Sans; not after today.

Dinner turned out to be mac and cheese, and enough of it for the both of them. Sans got them a blanket and Gaster curled up next to him, glad to just be near him. He would do anything to just be near him. Anything he wanted.

Sans was hugging one of his arms gently, his breathing slow and steady. Gaster noticed old tear tracks on his cheeks.

Well, maybe not anything, after all.


	9. Keep Them There Just in Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who needs warning labels?  
>   
> warning for suicide ideation, drug overdose mention/ideation  
>   
> chapter title from "Body of Years" by Mother Mother!

There was a hammer pounding at Gaster's head. Every light, every sound felt like an attack.

After so many hours, he couldn't stand it anymore. He got up and left his office for the first time in what felt like days.

The hallways of the lab were empty, as usual at such a late hour. Or early. Gaster couldn't tell, really.

He found his way to a medicine cabinet. Usually, he tried to get through headaches without painkillers, but he didn't have the strength that day.

He sighed with relief as his hand closed around a familiar bottle. Gaster only glanced at the warning label; he knew what dose he had to take.

'Had to'. It was such a funny word to him, at that moment.

He didn't 'have to'. The only thing he 'had to' do was his job, and that didn't seem like such an axiom these days. He could take as many painkillers as he wanted to, really. There was no one to stop him.

It was so simple. A weapon in his hands. One little slip and...

Then Gaster remembered Sans, and his stomach clenched. He could almost see the skeleton's face as he walked in and–

Gaster set the bottle down. He didn't trust himself to stick to what he 'had to'.

Maybe another day.


	10. I Fell in Your Arms Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And hey, you, don't you think it's kinda cute that I died right inside your arms tonight  
>   
> this is a heavy one  
> also, [talkingsoup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingsoup/pseuds/talkingsoup)'s brilliant Dr. Betas gets mentioned, too! I can't not have him as a part of this universe, heh  
> warning for suicide attempt, drug overdose, implied vomiting, self-hate, swearing  
>   
> chapter title from "Arms Tonite" by Mother Mother!

It was too late. No matter how much he tried, it was too late. Too late to keep trying, too late to turn back, to give up, to just stop.

Maybe... maybe it could stop, though.

Maybe it would stop.

_Maybe it would stop..._

_Maybe it would–_

"–stop."

Gaster opened his eyes. Sans was hugging him tightly, his face firmly in his chest. As if that would keep Gaster there.

"Please, Dings... You've gotta stop. If not for yourself, then– then for e-everyone who cares about you. For– for the team, for Alphys, Betas– m-me." Was he crying?

Gaster felt the burn of guilt as he cupped Sans's head weakly, seeing the tears shining in his eyes. His arms were like lead, stiff and painful, but he fought through it, wrapping an arm around Sans. He couldn't bear to see him cry.

Sans leaned his head into Gaster's hand, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "What– what did you take, Gaster?"

Gaster let his hand drop to his side, right beside his pocket, but he couldn't finish the motion. Sans reached down and fished the bottle out of his pocket. His face blanched when he looked at the label and then saw that it was empty.

"Fuck. Okay, we've gotta get this shit out of you."

Gaster gave a shake of his head, but he cowed before finishing it. He liked to believe it was because he really didn't mean it, but he knew it was just because the movement made him nauseous. Exactly what Sans wanted, really.

Sans glared at him, a look more desperate than angry, tears still in his eyes, and Gaster caved.

"Come on, either you throw up, or I call Betas and we pump your stomach." Gaster knew it was a bluff; Betas would never get there in time, and Sans knew even less about medicine than the lizard.

He could just not do it. He could just delay it, knock himself out, keep the drugs in his system until they do their job.

But he saw the utter terror on Sans's face as he barely kept his voice from cracking, and he knew there was no way he wouldn't live to see the morning. He squeezed Sans's hand in his own. He didn't have the strength to even nod.

Throwing up was easier than expected, though that wasn't that much of a surprise when he had been keeping himself from vomiting since he had woken up. His head still felt light and dizzy, and his limbs still hurt, but he knew it was over.

Sans set the bucket he had found aside, though the smell of ozone still filled the air. He wiped Gaster's mouth with a cloth, then slumped next to the taller scientist, who let himself fall and lean into him. Sans hugged him again, leaving a wet stain on his shoulder.

"Goddammit, G," Sans muttered, his voice cracking as he finally let his tears fall. Gaster hugged him back, rubbing his shoulder a little as he sobbed. Sans was sobbing into his shoulder. It was a rare sight to see.

Gaster didn't deserve it.

It took Sans a while to calm down his breathing. By that point the ache in Gaster's limbs had faded enough that he thought he could stand for a moment, though they still hurt like he had run through the Underground and back.

"Let's... sorry, let's get you some water, okay?" Gaster nodded. He might as well do as Sans said.

Sans helped him get to his feet, though it took a few tries due to his legs flaring up with pain and giving out. Eventually they made it to the TV room, which was thankfully nearby, and Sans handed a large glass of water to him. Gaster hadn't expected to be so dehydrated, so the glass was quite welcome.

Sans stuffed his hands into his pockets, waiting for Gaster to finish the glass. "When did you last eat?" He was being fussy, sure, but Gaster really couldn't blame him. Not after everything he'd done.

Gaster cleared his throat, setting the half-empty glass between his crossed legs. **"Y-yesterday, I th-think."** He frowned. His voice was still shaky.

In fact Gaster just then became aware of how much he was shaking and how cold the room felt. He curled in on himself, but Sans didn't fail to notice, grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping it around Gaster.

"I'll go get you somethin' to eat, okay? Don't... don't do anything while I'm gone." Sans sounded so scared at that moment. Gaster nodded, the motion making him a little dizzy. He really couldn't.

He set the glass of water down on the floor and curled into the corner of the couch, holding the blanket close. He didn't let himself think.

Sans returned a while later, holding a bowl and a mug. He waited for Gaster to sit up (inasmuch as he could) and set them on the coffee table in front of him. It was a rather messy bowl of vegetable quiche and a mug of hot chocolate. Gaster's favourites.

"Sorry I was gone for so long, we didn't have any hot chocolate left so I had to go to the store, and it took me a while to find one which sold it and was open this early, but then I couldn't find any open restaurants either so I, uh, had to make the quiche myself, though I didn't know how to make the crust so..." Sans stopped rambling to look at Gaster, waiting for his response.

Gaster just hugged him. He was tearing up now. Sans had done all that for him, even after everything. Gaster really didn't deserve him, but right now he was so grateful that he had Sans there. **"Th-thank you, Sansy."**

Sans blushed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm still mad at you, you know, but..." He sighed, the tension in his stance relaxing as he wrapped his arms around Gaster's middle. "I love you, Dings. So, so much."

Gaster pursed his lips. There was no guarantee he wouldn't hurt Sans like this again. But for now, he managed a very small smile. **"I love you, too."**


	11. Slit My Wrists and Watch That Blood Evaporate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad day.  
>   
> warning for graphic depictions of self-harm, suicide ideation, blood, mild gore (just in case), knives, self-hate, swearing  
>   
> chapter title from "Oh Ana" by Mother Mother!

It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt _why wouldn't it stop?_

Gaster's hand was clasped around the knife before he could even think. He gasped a little, skipping a few seconds helplessly between the knife in his hand and the knife in his arm. He couldn't help dragging it out to the end, watching the blood well up under the hungry blade as pain filled his mind.

He should stop. He knew he should. Sans would–

There was another cut now, deeper, the blade pressing harder into his skin. Gaster let out a hiss through his teeth, leaning back against his office wall and just focusing on the feeling.

Just pain. No– no more– He was fine. Just pain. He could deal with pain.

Three slashes now, horizontal, parallel. Three new additions to his pantheon of shame. It didn't matter. He would cover them up. Sans might– Sans would be mad for a while, but it would pass. It always did.

That's what he was told, anyway. The pain certainly seemed to, dulling out into an annoying sting. Not enough to distract him from seeing just how pathetic he was. It would pass.

Four cuts. Back into the maw of the beast. Gaster chuckled almost, the sound coming out as a sob.

He choked it back. Tears could wait.

It was too late for waiting, though.

Gaster was rolling up his other sleeve, ignoring his arm's protests to the movement, ignoring the smell of blood as it dripped down into his clothes. He'd have to change. He hoped Sans wouldn't notice the smell.

His other arm didn't get spared. Two more cuts, or was it three? Gaster's brain was too dizzy to count. He didn't want to think, he just wanted to get lost. To lose himself in the pain when he couldn't bear to live with himself without it.

He didn't know how long it had been, or what time it was to begin with, but the sound of the door opening made his blood run cold.

"Gas– _oh, fuck_."

Gaster scrambled back, pulling down his sleeves and trying in vain to hide behind his desk, but it was too late. Sans had rounded it already, and the look of sheer terror on his face made Gaster sick to the stomach.

"Shit. _Shit_." Sans ran a hand over his head, rushing over to crouch down next to him. "Hey, god, hey, Gaster?" His voice was shaking as much as his hands were as he reached out towards Gaster.

Gaster was utterly terrified. He tried scooting away from Sans, he was shaking his head, he couldn't meet his gaze from all the tears in his eyes, he just wanted to take that knife and stab it through his heart.

Sans had taken it, though, throwing it to the side without looking at it. "Hey, Gaster– shit, _Wingdings_ , listen to me–" He reached out toward Gaster again, grabbing onto one of his hands and not letting go. " _Listen_ to me!"

Gaster gulped down his tears, stopping his struggling. His eyes met Sans's for a moment and he almost couldn't take it. The skeleton was pale as a sheet, barely holding back tears, shivering with shock and fear. All because of what he'd done.

Gaster felt like the scum of the earth.

"It's okay, it's– i-it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt ya, just– take a deep breath, okay? J-just, do as I do, okay?" Sans took a shaky breath, and Gaster felt compelled to do the same. "It's– it's gonna be okay..." Sans muttered, pulling Gaster closer. "Okay? Let... let me take a look..." He took Gaster's arm gently, and Gaster was just so tired.

His sleeves were wet with dark stains. It bled into Sans's fingers as he rolled them up, his face going even paler. He opened Gaster's desk drawer without a word, taking out the gauze he had known was inside and getting to work. All the while Gaster tried to keep himself from sobbing.

As soon as his wounds were under wraps, he hugged Sans tight, wetting his shoulder with tears. God, he was so _stupid_. Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

"...you're not, Dings," Sans whispered, and Gaster realised he had been speaking out loud. "It's gonna be okay..."

Gaster didn't believe him. His sobs had turned into hiccups now, but he kept holding onto Sans as he shook.

He didn't deserve this. But it felt like if he let go, he might never deserve it again.


	12. Fussin’ over Scars (On My Soul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a million, billion, trillion stars, but I’m down here low  
>   
> everyone is tired  
> warnings for self-harm, blood, smoking, self-hate, depression  
>   
> chapter title from "Infinitesimal" by Mother Mother!

Gaster twirled the symbol around between his fingers, feeling the points. It was a flag, the shape of the fabric tapering to a point. The alphabet equivalent was the letter 'P'. Gaster amused himself by thinking of several words starting with the symbol. Not all of them were positive.

_Hm, 'positive'._

He didn't use this bullet often. Truth be told, he usually only used the hands, they were quite useful. He balanced the flag between his fingers, the point of the pole digging into his thumb as he examined the oddly-flat object.

Gaster hissed a little as the bullet drew blood, dissolving into magic as it did.

It was very hard for a monster to hurt themselves with their own bullets, at least accidentally.

Sans looked up from his book, setting it down with a sigh as he scooted closer to Gaster on the couch. "Lemme see."

Gaster flushed, looking away as Sans took his hand. **"It's just a prick. I don't know why you're being so fussy..."** he muttered.

Sans shot him a tired glare, no real anger behind it. He raised Gaster's hand up, the multitudes of tiny pricks and scratches plainly visible.

 _Oh, right._ He sometimes underestimated how perceptive Sans could be.

Sans sighed, fishing out a pack of band-aids from his pocket. He seemed to have those around a lot lately.

Gaster let his mind go blank as Sans worked on covering up his scraped hands. He took in the skeleton, tracing the lines of worry on his brow and the bags under his eyes. He was too tired to feel guilty anymore. He felt... 'paltry', that was the word.

Sans closed his eyes for a moment, his head slowly dropping forward as he seemed to nod off. Gaster caught him, letting his skull rest in his lap. Sans deserved a break.

Gaster just sat there for a while, unconsciously picking at his bandages while he waited for Sans to wake up.

"Mmf... Ugh, sorry, must've dozed off..." Sans mumbled after a while. He buried his face in Gaster's sweater as he hugged him sleepily around the middle.

**"It's okay."**

Gaster stroked the side of his head and Sans giggled a little, the bandages tickling him. He breathed in deeply, cuddling up to Gaster.

"Sorry, 'm jus'... tired."

Gaster agreed with the sentiment. He rubbed Sans's shoulder comfortingly, watching his breathing grow steadier once more.

His fingers were twitching a little, desperate for something to occupy them. Gaster found himself reaching automatically into his pocket, fingers clasping greedily around what he had dreaded... what he had hoped to find.

He stared at the cigarette in his hand, nestled between his bandaged fingers. It chaffed against a still-open scratch, stinging in an almost pleasant way.

'Pleasant'. Not bad.

Gaster hesitated, his other hand still resting on Sans. He knew how hard the skeleton had tried to get him to tone it down with the smoking. Gaster didn't have the heart to tell him he still did, occasionally. Besides, he was certain that Sans suspected as such. He always did know Gaster best.

Finding a match wasn't that hard; the lab was full of them. The cigarette was lit before Gaster could think about it further, and the feeling of smoke in his lungs was like a breath of fresh air, ironically enough. He held it in for as long as he could, feeling it start to cool down, then let it drift lazily up to the ceiling, watching it get caught by the ventilation.

He was nearly done with the cigarette when Sans stirred, turning on his back and staring up at the smoke. Gaster tapped the last of the ash onto the nearby ashtray, waiting for Sans to close his eyes again so he could finish snuffing it out between his fingers. He managed not to wince as he did.

"How many was that?" Sans asked warily, opening one eye to look up at Gaster. Gaster looked away.

 **"Just the one."** He felt around his pocket again, gripping the second one, just to be sure. He left it alone, leaning on the couch's armrest instead. It seemed that Sans didn't fail to notice the new burns. Gaster thought it didn't hurt as much as it used to.

Sans sat up slowly, still drowsy from his unplanned nap, and moved to sit more squarely in Gaster's lap, leaning his head against his chest. He took Gaster's hand, gently, running his phalanges against the bandages. He left a soft kiss on his burned fingers, and Gaster blushed, partly out of guilt. Shame, maybe.

He hugged Sans, tenderly, sinking into the embrace. He kissed him on the cheek, then softly on the mouth when Sans turned his head. **"...I'm sorry,"** he whispered.

"It's okay." Sans closed his eyes.

"It's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is narcoleptic here! I headcanon him as a type 1 narcoleptic, with mild cataplexy but mostly just EDS and insomnia. He ended up having a bit of a sleep attack here, but I by no means want to imply that that's all that narcolepsy is about! In fact, sleep attacks aren't even one of the main four symptom, the most prominent of which is probably EDS (Excessive daytime sleepiness), which can cause people to fall asleep in comfortable places (and even some uncomfortable ones, sometimes), kinda what happened here, especially since he was tired already (tbh it's a wonder he didn't doze off while reading lol).  
> Whoops, got a bit carried away hah, for the record, I do not have narcolepsy nor do I personally know anyone with narcolepsy, so if you know more about it than me, _please feel free to correct me!!_ This has become a bit of an interest of mine, and I would like to provide accurate representation since it's so rare!


	13. After the Fire, I Awoke in Blackness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall.
> 
> warning for unreality, serious body horror/gore, dust, blood, magical vomiting
> 
> chapter title from [this amazing piece of art ](http://skyroredraws.tumblr.com/post/166826132483/i-never-really-liked-that-doughy-sort-of-look)(warning for body horror)

Pain.

All he could feel was pain.

His insides were burning, or maybe it was his outsides, or maybe it was all of him and there was no difference anymore.

He was falling. How long had he been falling? Time wasn't a thing anymore.

Everything was burning.

He opened his eyes.

He opened.

Why wouldn't they open?

It was so dark. No light, no light. Photon readings nnnn– _negative._

Up was down and down was left and left was wrong, wrong _wrong–_

Gaster opened his eyes.

He was nowhere. It was the only way to describe this place – nothing, more nothing than there had ever been anything.

His head hurt. His throat hurt, he must have screamed– he was screaming– he would scream–

Linearity was underrated.

Gaster might have stopped falling. Gaster didn't know if he would ever stop falling. Up was down and down was his head and his lungs and his tongue and his teeth and his eyes and holes and holes and holes and holes and–

Gaster screamed.

A record was scratching, white noise filled his mind, screams and sounds and laughter and noise noise _noise._

Gaster gripped his head. His hands burned at the touch, his fingers dragged down and his head was no more.

Gaster gripped his head.

He fell to his knees, hands hitting the cold, cold surface, hitting the cold surface over and over and over until his knuckles bled. Black, white, red, mixing, changing, screaming.

He fell to his knees.

Everything hurt. The world was pain and cold and nothing and burning. Gaster curled into himself, feeling his insides squish and slosh and crush and meld.

His throat closed up and he was coughing and retching, grabbing at his stomach and throat as something goopy and dusty filled his mouth and dripped down his chin. He tasted blood.

He was sobbing now, unable to stop retching, coughing up fistful after fistful of his own insides and magic and dust. His face was wet, thick, dark tears joining the puddle at his feet.

What was left of his feet.

His body was a dripping mass, his insides his outsides his insides his.

Gaster tried to scream, but all that came out was a low gurgle.

He raised his hands to stop the torrent of black. His fingers had melded together. Gaster tried to separate them, but his flesh clung between his digits in strings.

A wave of pain rocked through him, sending him sprawling, squeezing his stomach as it all came rushing up his throat. He tried to curl in on himself, but he couldn't tell which parts of him were where.

Gaster was crying now, quietly, the silence of the non-space deafening. It was choking him. He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

His lungs were gone and his mouth was full and there was no air to take in and he couldn't breathe.

His right eye had closed up completely, his face melting, parts of his chin now sitting in his hands and Gaster wanted so hard to just scream. His cracks hurt like the cracks in his soul. In his–

His.

Shattered.

Millions and billions and trillions of pieces, before and now and there and nowhere.

Gaster felt everything.

Gaster didn't feel anything.

It was so cold. It was so dark.

He was falling.


End file.
